THE VAMPIRE'S SECOND STORY.

THE VAMPIRE'S SECOND STORY.

Of the Relative Villany of Men and Women.
In the great city of Bhogavati dwelt, once upon a time, a young
prince, concerning whom I may say that he strikingly resembled
this amiable son of your majesty.
Raja Vikram was silent, nor did he acknowledge the Baital's
indirect compliment. He hated flattery, but he liked, when
flattered, to be flattered in his own person; a feature in their royal
patron's character which the Nine Gems of Science had turned to
their own account.
Now the young prince Raja Ram (continued the tale teller) had an
old father, concerning whom I may say that he was exceedingly
unlike your Rajaship, both as a man and as a parent. He was fond
of hunting, dicing, sleeping by day, drinking at night, and eating
perpetual tonics, while he delighted in the idleness of watching
nautch girls, and the vanity of falling in love. But he was adored
by his children because he took the trouble to win their hearts. He
did not lay it down as a law of heaven that his offspring would
assuredly go to Patala if they neglected the duty of bestowing upon
him without cause all their affections, as your moral, virtuous, and
highly respectable fathers are only too apt ----. Aie! Aie!
These sounds issued from the Vampire's lips as the warrior king,
speechless with wrath, passed his hand behind his back, and
viciously twisted up a piece of the speaker's skin. This caused the
Vampire to cry aloud, more however, it would appear, in derision
than in real suffering, for he presently proceeded with the same
subject.
Fathers, great king, may be divided into three kinds; and be it said
aside, that mothers are the same. Firstly, we have the parent of
many ideas, amusing, pleasant, of course poor, and the idol of his
children. Secondly, there is the parent with one idea and a half.
This sort of man would, in your place, say to himself, "That demon
fellow speaks a manner of truth. I am not above learning from him,
despite his position in life. I will carry out his theory, just to see
how far it goes"; and so saying, he wends his way home, and treats
his young ones with prodigious kindness for a time, but it is not
lasting. Thirdly, there is the real one-idea'd type of parent-yourself,
O warrior king Vikram, an admirable example. You learn in youth
what you are taught: for instance, the blessed precept that the green
stick is of the trees of Paradise; and in age you practice what you
have learned. You cannot teach yourselves anything before your
beards sprout, and when they grow stiff you cannot be taught by
others. If any one attempt to change your opinions you cry,
What is new is not true,
What is true is not new.
and you rudely pull his hand from the subject. Yet have you your
uses like other things of earth. In life you are good working camels
for the mill-track, and when you die your ashes are not worse
compost than those of the wise.
Your Rajaship will observe (continued the Vampire, as Vikram
began to show symptoms of ungovernable anger) that I have been
concise in treating this digression. Had I not been so, it would have
led me far indeed from my tale. Now to return.
When the old king became air mixed with air, the young king,
though he found hardly ten pieces of silver in the paternal treasury
and legacies for thousands of golden ounces, yet mourned his loss
with the deepest grief. He easily explained to himself the reckless
emptiness of the royal coffers as a proof of his dear kind parent's
goodness, because he loved him.
But the old man had left behind him, as he could not carry it off
with him, a treasure more valuable than gold and silver: one
Churaman, a parrot, who knew the world, and who besides
discoursed in the most correct Sanscrit. By sage counsel and wise
guidance this admirable bird soon repaired his young master's
shattered fortunes.
One day the prince said, "Parrot, thou knowest everything: tell me
where there is a mate fit for me. The shastras inform us, respecting
the choice of a wife, 'She who is not descended from his paternal
or maternal ancestors within the sixth degree is eligible by a high
caste man for nuptials. In taking a wife let him studiously avoid
the following families, be they ever so great, or ever so rich in
kine, goats, sheep, gold, or grain: the family which has omitted
prescribed acts of devotion; that which has produced no male
children; that in which the Veda (scripture) has not been read; that
which has thick hair on the body; and that in which members have
been subject to hereditary disease. Let a person choose for his wife
a girl whose person has no defect; who has an agreeable name;
who walks gracefully, like a young elephant; whose hair and teeth
are moderate in quantity and in size; and whose body is of
exquisite softness.'"
"Great king," responded the parrot Churaman, "there is in the
country of Magadh a Raja, Magadheshwar by name, and he has a
daughter called Chandravati. You will marry her; she is very
learned, and, what is better far, very fait. She is of yellow colour,
with a nose like the flower of the sesamum; her legs are taper, like
the plantain-tree; her eyes are large, like the principal leaf of the
lotus; her eye-brows stretch towards her ears; her lips are red, like
the young leaves of the mango-tree; her face is like the full moon;
her voice is like the sound of the cuckoo; her arms reach to her
knees; her throat is like the pigeon's; her flanks are thin, like those
of the lion; her hair hangs in curls only down to her waist; her teeth
are like the seeds of the pomegranate; and her gait is that of the
drunken elephant or the goose."
On hearing the parrot's speech, the king sent for an astrologer, and
asked him, "Whom shall I marry?" The wise man, having
consulted his art, replied, "Chandravati is the name of the maiden,
and your marriage with her will certainly take place." Thereupon
the young Raja, though he had never seen his future queen, became
incontinently enamoured of her. He summoned a Brahman, and
sent him to King Magadheshwar, saying, "If you arrange
satisfactorily this affair of our marriage we will reward you
amply"-a promise which lent wings to the priest.
Now it so happened that this talented and beautiful princess had a
jay,[FN#74] whose name was Madan-manjari or Love-garland.
She also possessed encyclopaedic knowledge after her degree, and,
like the parrot, she spoke excellent Sanscrit.
Be it briefly said, O warrior king-for you think that I am talking
fables--that in the days of old, men had the art of making birds
discourse in human language. The invention is attributed to a great
philosopher, who split their tongues, and after many generations
produced a selected race born with those members split. He altered
the shapes of their skulls by fixing ligatures behind the occiput,
which caused the sinciput to protrude, their eyes to become
prominent, and their brains to master the art of expressing thoughts
in words.
But this wonderful discovery, like those of great philosophers
generally, had in it a terrible practical flaw The birds beginning to
speak, spoke wisely and so well, they told the truth so persistently,
they rebuked their brethren of the featherless skins so openly, they
flattered them so little and they counselled them so much, that
mankind presently grew tired of hearing them discourse. Thus the
art gradually fell into desuetude, and now it is numbered with the
things that were.
One day the charming Princess Chandravati was sitting in
confidential conversation with her jay. The dialogue was not
remarkable, for maidens in all ages seldom consult their
confidantes or speculate upon the secrets of futurity, or ask to have
dreams interpreted, except upon one subject. At last the princess
said, for perhaps the hundredth time that month, "Where, O jay, is
there a husband worthy of me?"
"Princess," replied Madan-manjari, "I am happy at length to be
able as willing to satisfy your just curiosity. For just it is, though
the delicacy of our sex --"
"Now, no preaching!" said the maiden; "or thou shalt have salt
instead of sugar for supper."
Jays, your Rajaship, are fond of sugar. So the confidante retained a
quantity of good advice which she was about to produce, and
replied,
"I now see clearly the ways of Fortune. Raja Ram, king of
Bhogavati, is to be thy husband. He shall be happy in thee and thou
in him, for he is young and handsome, rich and generous,
good-tempered, not too clever, and without a chance of being an
invalid."
Thereupon the princess, although she had never seen her future
husband, at once began to love him. In fact, though neither had set
eyes upon the other, both were mutually in love.
"How can that be, sire?" asked the young Dharma Dhwaj of his
father. " I always thought that --"
The great Vikram interrupted his son, and bade him not to ask silly
questions. Thus he expected to neutralize the evil effects of the
Baital's doctrine touching the amiability of parents unlike himself.
Now, as both these young people (resumed the Baital) were of
princely family and well to do in the world, the course of their love
was unusually smooth. When the Brahman sent by Raja Ram had
reached Magadh, and had delivered his King's homage to the Raja
Magadheshwar, the latter received him with distinction, and agreed
to his proposal. The beautiful princess's father sent for a Brahman
of his own, and charging him with nuptial gifts and the customary
presents, sent him back to Bhogavati in company with the other
envoy, and gave him this order, "Greet Raja Ram, on my behalf,
and after placing the tilak or mark upon his forehead, return here
with all speed. When you come back I will get all things ready for
the marriage."
Raja Ram, on receiving the deputation, was greatly pleased, and
after generously rewarding the Brahmans and making all the
necessary preparations, he set out in state for the land of Magadha,
to claim his betrothed.
In due season the ceremony took place with feasting and bands of
music, fireworks and illuminations, rehearsals of scripture, songs,
entertainments, processions, and abundant noise. And hardly had
the turmeric disappeared from the beautiful hands and feet of the
bride, when the bridegroom took an affectionate leave of his new
parents - he had not lived long in the house - and receiving the
dowry and the bridal gifts, set out for his own country.
Chandravati was dejected by leaving her mother, and therefore she
was allowed to carry with her the jay, Madanmanian. She soon
told her husband the wonderful way in which she had first heard
his name, and he related to her the advantage which he had derived
from confabulation with Churaman, his parrot.
"Then why do we not put these precious creatures into one cage,
after marrying them according to the rites of the angelic marriage
(Gandharva-lagana)?" said the charming queen. Like most brides,
she was highly pleased to find an opportunity of making a match.
"Ay! why not, love ? Surely they cannot live happy in what the
world calls single blessedness," replied the young king. As
bridegrooms sometimes are for a short time, he was very warm
upon the subject of matrimony.
Thereupon, without consulting the parties chiefly concerned in
their scheme, the master and mistress, after being comfortably
settled at the end of their journey, caused a large cage to be
brought, and put into it both their favourites.
Upon which Churaman the parrot leaned his head on one side and
directed a peculiar look at the jay. But Madan- manjari raised her
beak high in the air, puffed through it once or twice, and turned
away her face in extreme disdain.
"Perhaps," quoth the parrot, at length breaking silence, "you will
tell me that you have no desire to be married?"
"Probably," replied the jay.
"And why?" asked the male bird.
"Because I don't choose," replied the female.
"Truly a feminine form of resolution this," ejaculated the parrot. "I
will borrow my master's words and call it a woman's reason, that is
to say, no reason at all. Have you any objection to be more
explicit?"
"None whatever," retorted the jay, provoked by the rude innuendo
into telling more plainly than politely exactly what she thought;
"none whatever, sir parrot. You he-things are all of you sinful,
treacherous, deceitful, selfish, devoid of conscience, and
accustomed to sacrifice us, the weaker sex, to your smallest desire
or convenience."
"Of a truth, fair lady," quoth the young Raja Ram to his bride, "this
pet of thine is sufficiently impudent."
"Let her words be as wind in thine ear, master," interrupted the
parrot. "And pray, Mistress Jay, what are you she-things but
treacherous, false, ignorant, and avaricious beings, whose only
wish in this world is to prevent life being as pleasant as it might
be?"
"Verily, my love," said the beautiful Chandravati to her
bridegroom, "this thy bird has a habit of expressing his opinions in
a very free and easy way."
"I can prove what I assert," whispered the jay in the ear of the
princess.
"We can confound their feminine minds by an anecdote,"
whispered the parrot in the ear of the prince.
Briefly, King Vikram, it was settled between the twain that each
should establish the truth of what it had advanced by an illustration
in the form of a story.
Chandravati claimed, and soon obtained, precedence for the jay.
Then the wonderful bird, Madan-manjari, began to speak as
follows:-
I have often told thee, O queen, that before coming to thy feet, my
mistress was Ratnawati, the daughter of a rich trader, the dearest,
the sweetest, the ---
Here the jay burst into tears, and the mistress was sympathetically
affected. Presently the speaker resumed---
However, I anticipate. In the city of Ilapur there was a wealthy
merchant, who was without offspring; on this account he was
continually fasting and going on pilgrimage, and when at home he
was ever engaged in reading the Puranas and in giving alms to the
Brahmans.
At length, by favour of the Deity, a son was born to this merchant,
who celebrated his birth with great pomp and rejoicing, and gave
large gifts to Brahmans and to bards, and distributed largely to the
hungry, the thirsty, and the poor. When the boy was five years old
he had him taught to read, and when older he was sent to a guru,
who had formerly himself been a student, and who was celebrated
as teacher and lecturer.
In the course of time the merchant's son grew up. Praise be to
Brahma! what a wonderful youth it was, with a face like a
monkey's, legs like a stork's, and a back like a camel's. You know
the old proverb:--
Expect thirty-two villanies from the limping, and eighty
from the one-eyed man,
But when the hunchback comes, say "Lord defend us!"
Instead of going to study, he went to gamble with other
ne'er-do-weels, to whom he talked loosely, and whom he taught to
be bad-hearted as himself. He made love to every woman, and
despite his ugliness, he was not unsuccessful. For they are equally
fortunate who are very handsome or very ugly, in so far as they are
both remarkable and remarked. But the latter bear away the palm.
Beautiful men begin well with women, who do all they can to
attract them, love them as the apples of their eyes, discover them to
be fools, hold them to be their equals, deceive them, and speedily
despise them. It is otherwise with the ugly man, who, in
consequence of his homeliness, must work his wits and take pains
with himself, and become as pleasing as he is capable of being, till
women forget his ape's face, bird's legs, and bunchy back.
The hunchback, moreover, became a Tantri, so as to complete his
villanies. He was duly initiated by an apostate Brahman, made a
declaration that he renounced all the ceremonies of his old
religion, and was delivered from their yoke, and proceeded to
perform in token of joy an abominable rite. In company with eight
men and eight women-a Brahman female, a dancing girl, a
weaver's daughter, a woman of ill fame, a washerwoman, a
barber's wife, a milkmaid, and the daughter of a land-owner-
choosing the darkest time of night and the most secret part of the
house, he drank with them, was sprinkled and anointed, and went
through many ignoble ceremonies, such as sitting nude upon a
dead body. The teacher informed him that he was not to indulge
shame, or aversion to anything, nor to prefer one thing to another,
nor to regard caste, ceremonial cleanness or uncleanness, but
freely to enjoy all the pleasures of sense-that is, of course, wine
and us, since we are the representatives of the wife of Cupid, and
wine prevents the senses from going astray. And whereas holy
men, holding that the subjugation or annihilation of the passions is
essential to final beatitude, accomplish this object by bodily
austerities, and by avoiding temptation, he proceeded to blunt the
edge of the passions with excessive indulgence. And he jeered at
the pious, reminding them that their ascetics are safe only in
forests, and while keeping a perpetual fast; but that he could
subdue his passions in the very presence of what they most
desired.
Presently this excellent youth's father died, leaving him immense
wealth. He blunted his passions so piously and so vigorously, that
in very few years his fortune was dissipated. Then he turned
towards his neighbour's goods and prospered for a time, till being
discovered robbing, he narrowly escaped the stake. At length he
exclaimed, "Let the gods perish! the rascals send me nothing but ill
luck!" and so saying he arose and fled from his own country.
Chance led that villain hunchback to the city of Chandrapur,
where, hearing the name of my master Hemgupt, he recollected
that one of his father's wealthiest correspondents was so called.
Thereupon, with his usual audacity, he presented himself at the
house, walked in, and although he was clothed in tatters,
introduced himself, told his father's name and circumstances, and
wept bitterly.
The good man was much astonished, and not less grieved, to see
the son of his old friend in such woful plight. He rose up, however,
embraced the youth, and asked the reason of his coming.
"I freighted a vessel," said the false hunchback, "for the purpose of
trading to a certain land. Having gone there, I disposed of my
merchandise, and, taking another cargo, I was on my voyage
home. Suddenly a great storm arose, and the vessel was wrecked,
and I escaped on a plank, and after a time arrived here. But I am
ashamed, since I have lost all my wealth, and I cannot show my
face in this plight in my own city. My excellent father would have
consoled me with his pity. But now that I have carried him and my
mother to Ganges,[FN#75] every one will turn against me; they
will rejoice in my misfortunes, they will accuse me of folly and
recklessness - alas! alas! I am truly miserable."
My dear master was deceived by the cunning of the wretch. He
offered him hospitality, which was readily enough accepted, and
he entertained him for some time as a guest. Then, having reason
to be satisfied with his conduct, Hemgupt admitted him to his
secrets, and finally made him a partner in his business. Briefly, the
villain played his cards so well, that at last the merchant said to
himself:
"I have had for years an anxiety and a calamity in my house. My
neighbours whisper things to my disadvantage, and those who are
bolder speak out with astonishment amongst themselves, saying,
'At seven or eight, people marry their daughters, and this indeed is
the appointment of the law: that period is long since gone; she is
now thirteen or fourteen years old, and she is very tall and lusty,
resembling a married woman of thirty. How can her father eat his
rice with comfort and sleep with satisfaction, whilst such a
disreputable thing exists in his house? At present he is exposed to
shame, and his deceased friends are suffering through his retaining
a girl from marriage beyond the period which nature has
prescribed.' And now, while I am sitting quietly at home, the
Bhagwan (Deity) removes all my uneasiness: by his favour such an
opportunity occurs. It is not right to delay. It is best that I shall
give my daughter in marriage to him. Whatever can be done to-day
is best; who knows what may happen to-morrow?
"Thus thinking, the old man went to his wife and said to her,
"Birth, marriage, and death are all under the direction of the gods;
can anyone say when they will be ours? We want for our daughter
a young man who is of good birth, rich and handsome, clever and
honourable. But we do not find him. If the bridegroom be faulty,
thou sayest, all will go wrong. I cannot put a string round the neck
of our daughter and throw her into the ditch. If, however, thou
think well of the merchant's son, now my partner, we will celebrate
Ratnawati's marriage with him."
The wife, who had been won over by the hunchback's hypocrisy,
was also pleased, and replied, "My lord! when the Deity so plainly
indicates his wish, we should do it; since, though we have sat
quietly at home, the desire of our hearts is accomplished. It is best
that no delay be made: and, having quickly summoned the family
priest, and having fixed upon a propitious planetary conjunction,
that the marriage be celebrated."
Then they called their daughter -- ah, me! what a beautiful being
she was, and worthy the love of a Gandharva (demigod). Her long
hair, purple with the light of youth, was glossy as the
bramra's[FN#76] wing; her brow was pure and clear as the agate;
the ocean-coral looked pale beside her lips, and her teeth were as
two chaplets of pearls. Everything in her was formed to be loved.
Who could look into her eyes without wishing to do it again? Who
could hear her voice without hoping that such music would sound
once more? And she was good as she was fair. Her father adored
her; her mother, though a middle-aged woman, was not envious or
jealous of her; her relatives doted on her, and her friends could
find no fault with her. I should never end were I to tell her precious
qualities. Alas, alas ! my poor Ratnawati!
So saying, the jay wept abundant tears; then she resumed:
When her parents informed my mistress of their resolution, she
replied, "Sadhu-it is well!" She was not like most young women,
who hate nothing so much as a man whom their seniors order them
to love. She bowed her head and promised obedience, although, as
she afterwards told her mother, she could hardly look at her
intended, on account of his prodigious ugliness. But presently the
hunchback's wit surmounted her disgust. She was grateful to him
for his attention to her father and mother; she esteemed him for his
moral and religious conduct; she pitied him for his misfortunes,
and she finished with forgetting his face, legs, and back in her
admiration of what she supposed to be his mind.
She had vowed before marriage faithfully to perform all the duties
of a wife, however distasteful to her they might be; but after the
nuptials, which were not long deferred, she was not surprised to
find that she loved her husband. Not only did she omit to think of
his features and figure; I verily believe that she loved him the more
for his repulsiveness. Ugly, very ugly men prevail over women for
two reasons. Firstly, we begin with repugnance, which in the
course of nature turns to affection; and we all like the most that
which, when unaccustomed to it, we most disliked. Hence the poet
says, with as much truth as is in the male:
Never despair, O man! when woman's spite
Detests thy name and sickens at thy sight:
Sometime her heart shall learn to love thee more
For the wild hatred which it felt before, &c.
Secondly, the very ugly man appears, deceitfully enough, to think
little of his appearance, and he will give himself the trouble to
pursue a heart because he knows that the heart will not follow after
him. Moreover, we women (said the jay) are by nature pitiful, and
this our enemies term a "strange perversity." A widow is generally
disconsolate if she loses a little, wizen-faced, shrunken shanked,
ugly, spiteful, distempered thing that scolded her and quarrelled
with her, and beat her and made her hours bitter; whereas she will
follow her husband to Ganges with exemplary fortitude if he was
brave, handsome, generous ---
"Either hold your tongue or go on with your story," cried the
warrior king, in whose mind these remarks awakened disagreeable
family reflections.
"Hi! hi! hi!" laughed the demon; "I will obey your majesty, and
make Madan-manjari, the misanthropical jay, proceed."
Yes, she loved the hunchback; and how wonderful is our love!
quoth the jay. A light from heaven which rains happiness on this
dull, dark earth! A spell falling upon the spirit, which reminds us
of a higher existence! A memory of bliss! A present delight! An
earnest of future felicity! It makes hideousness beautiful and
stupidity clever, old age young and wickedness good, moroseness
amiable, and low-mindedness magnanimous, perversity pretty and
vulgarity piquant. Truly it is sovereign alchemy and excellent flux
for blending contradictions is our love, exclaimed the jay.
And so saying, she cast a triumphant look at the parrot, who only
remarked that he could have desired a little more originality in her
remarks.
For some months (resumed Madan-manjari), the bride and the
bridegroom lived happily together in Hemgupt's house. But it is
said:
Never yet did the tiger become a lamb;
and the hunchback felt that the edge of his passions again wanted
blunting. He reflected, "Wisdom is exemption from attachment,
and affection for children, wife, and home." Then he thus
addressed my poor young mistress:
"I have been now in thy country some years, and I have heard no
tidings of my own family, hence my mind is sad, I have told thee
everything about myself; thou must now ask thy mother leave for
me to go to my own city, and, if thou wishest, thou mayest go with
me."
Ratnawati lost no time in saying to her mother, "My husband
wishes to visit his own country; will you so arrange that he may
not be pained about this matter?"
The mother went to her husband, and said, "Your son-in-law
desires leave to go to his own country."
Hemgupt replied, " Very well; we will grant him leave. One has no
power over another man's son. We will do what he wishes."
The parents then called their daughter, and asked her to tell them
her real desire-whether she would go to her father-in-law's house,
or would remain in her mother's home. She was abashed at this
question, and could not answer; but she went back to her husband,
and said, "As my father and mother have declared that you should
do as you like, do not leave me behind."
Presently the merchant summoned his son-in-law, and having
bestowed great wealth upon him, allowed him to depart. He also
bade his daughter farewell, after giving her a palanquin and a
female slave. And the parents took leave of them with wailing and
bitter tears; their hearts were like to break. And so was mine.
For some days the hunchback travelled quietly along with his wife,
in deep thought. He could not take her to his city, where she would
find out his evil life, and the fraud which he had passed upon her
father. Besides which, although he wanted her money, he by no
means wanted her company for life. After turning on many
projects in his evil-begotten mind, he hit upon the following:
He dismissed the palanquin-bearers when halting at a little shed in
the thick jungle through which they were travelling, and said to his
wife, "This is a place of danger; give me thy jewels, and I will hide
them in my waist-shawl. When thou reachest the city thou canst
wear them again." She then gave up to him all her ornaments,
which were of great value. Thereupon he inveigled the slave girl
into the depths of the forest, where he murdered her, and left her
body to be devoured by wild beasts. Lastly, returning to my poor
mistress, he induced her to leave the hut with him, and pushed her
by force into a dry well, after which exploit he set out alone with
his ill-gotten wealth, walking towards his own city.
In the meantime, a wayfaring man, who was passing through that
jungle, hearing the sound of weeping, stood still, and began to say
to himself, "How came to my ears the voice of a mortal's grief in
this wild wood?" then followed the direction of the noise, which
led him a pit, and peeping over the side, he saw a woman crying at
the bottom. The traveller at once loosened his gird cloth, knotted it
to his turband, and letting down the line pulled out the poor bride.
He asked her who she was and how she came to fall into that well.
She replied, "I am the daughter of Hemgupt, the wealthiest
merchant in the city of Chandrapur; and I was journeying wit my
husband to his own country, when robbers set upon us and
surrounded us. They slew my slave girl, the threw me into a well,
and having bound my husband they took him away, together with
my jewels. I have no tidings of him, nor he of me." And so saying,
she burst into tears and lamentations.
The wayfaring man believed her tale, and conducted her to her
home, where she gave the same account of the accident which had
befallen her, ending with, "beyond this, I know not if they have
killed my husband, or have let him go." The father thus soothed
her grief "Daughter! have no anxiety; thy husband is alive, and by
the will of the Deity he will come to thee in a few days. Thieves
take men's money, not their lives." Then the parents presented her
with ornaments more precious than those which she had lost; and
summoning their relations and friends, they comforted her to the
best of their power.
And so did I. The wicked hunchback had, meanwhile, returned to
his own city, where he was excellently well received, because he
brought much wealth with him. His old associates flocked around
him rejoicing; and he fell into the same courses which had
beggared him before. Gambling and debauchery soon blunted his
passions, and emptied his purse. Again his boon companions,
finding him without a broken cowrie, drove him from their doors,
he stole and was flogged for theft; and lastly, half famished, he
fled the city. Then he said to himself, "I must go to my
father-in-law, and make the excuse that a grandson has been born
to him, and that I have come to offer him congratulations on the
event."
Imagine, however, his fears and astonishment, when, as he entered
the house, his wife stood before him. At first he thought it was a
ghost, and turned to run away, but she went out to him and said,
"Husband, be not troubled ! I have told my father that thieves came
upon us, and killed the slave girl and robbed me and threw me into
a well, and bound thee and carried thee off. Tell the same story,
and put away all anxious feelings. Come up and change thy
tattered garments-alas! some misfortune hath befallen thee. But
console thyself; all is now well, since thou art returned to me, and
fear not, for the house is shine, and I am thy slave."
The wretch, with all his hardness of heart, could scarcely refrain
from tears. He followed his wife to her room, where she washed
his feet, caused him to bathe, dressed him in new clothes, and
placed food before him. When her parents returned, she presented
him to their embrace, saying in a glad way, "Rejoice with me, O
my father and mother! the robbers have at length allowed him to
come back to us." Of course the parents were deceived, they are
mostly a purblind race; and Hemgupt, showing great favour to his
worthless son-in-law, exclaimed, "Remain with us, my son, and be
happy!"
For two or three months the hunchback lived quietly with his wife,
treating her kindly and even affectionately. But this did not last
long. He made acquaintance with a band of thieves, and arranged
his plans with them.
After a time, his wife one night came to sleep by his side, having
put on all her jewels. At midnight, when he saw that she was fast
asleep, he struck her with a knife so that she died. Then he
admitted his accomplices, who savagely murdered Hemgupt and
his wife; and with their assistance he carried off any valuable
article upon which he could lay his hands. The ferocious wretch!
As he passed my cage he looked at it, and thought whether he had
time to wring my neck. The barking of a dog saved my life; but my
mistress, my poor Ratnawati-ah, me! ah, me!--
"Queen," said the jay, in deepest grief, "all this have I seen with
mine own eyes, and have heard with mine own ears. It affected me
in early life, and gave me a dislike for the society of the other sex.
With due respect to you, I have resolved to remain an old maid.
Let your majesty reflect, what crime had my poor mistress
committed? A male is of the same disposition as a highway robber;
and she who forms friendship with such an one, cradles upon her
bosom a black and venomous snake."
"Sir Parrot," said the jay, turning to her wooer, "I have spoken. I
have nothing more to say, but that you he-things are all a
treacherous, selfish, wicked race, created for the express purpose
of working our worldly woe, and--"
"When a female, O my king, asserts that she has nothing more to
say, but," broke in Churaman, the parrot with a loud dogmatical
voice, "I know that what she has said merely whets her tongue for
what she is about to say. This person has surely spoken long
enough and drearily enough."
"Tell me, then, O parrot," said the king, "what faults there may be
in the other sex."
"I will relate," quoth Churaman, "an occurrence which in my early
youth determined me to live and to die an old bachelor."
When quite a young bird, and before my schooling began, I was
caught in the land of Malaya, and was sold to a very rich merchant
called Sagardati, a widower with one daughter, the lady Jayashri.
As her father spent all his days and half his nights in his
counting-house, conning his ledgers and scolding his writers, that
young woman had more liberty than is generally allowed to those
of her age, and a mighty bad use she made of it.
O king! men commit two capital mistakes in rearing the "domestic
calamity," and these are over-vigilance and under-vigilance. Some
parents never lose sight of their daughters, suspect them of all evil
intentions, and are silly enough to show their suspicions, which is
an incentive to evil-doing. For the weak-minded things do
naturally say, "I will be wicked at once. What do I now but suffer
all the pains and penalties of badness, without enjoying its
pleasures?" And so they are guilty of many evil actions; for,
however vigilant fathers and mothers may be, the daughter can
always blind their eyes.
On the other hand, many parents take no trouble whatever with
their charges: they allow them to sit in idleness, the origin of
badness; they permit them to communicate with the wicked, and
they give them liberty which breeds opportunity. Thus they also,
falling into the snares of the unrighteous, who are ever a more
painstaking race than the righteous, are guilty of many evil actions.
What, then, must wise parents do? The wise will study the
characters of their children, and modify their treatment
accordingly. If a daughter be naturally good, she will be treated
with a prudent confidence. If she be vicious, an apparent trust will
be reposed in her; but her father and mother will secretly ever be
upon their guard. The one-idea'd --
"All this parrot-prate, I suppose, is only intended to vex me," cried
the warrior king, who always considered himself, and very
naturally, a person of such consequence as ever to be uppermost in
the thoughts and minds of others. "If thou must tell a tale, then tell
one, Vampire! or else be silent, as I am sick to the death of thy
psychics."
"It is well, O warrior king," resumed the Baital.
After that Churaman the parrot had given the young Raja Ram a
golden mine full of good advice about the management of
daughters, he proceeded to describe Jayashri.
She was tall, stout, and well made, of lymphatic temperament, and
yet strong passions. Her fine large eyes had heavy and rather full
eyelids, which are to be avoided. Her hands were symmetrical
without being small, and the palms were ever warm and damp.
Though her lips were good, her mouth was somewhat underhung;
and her voice was so deep, that at times it sounded like that of a
man. Her hair was smooth as the kokila's plume, and her
complexion was that of the young jasmine; and these were the
points at which most persons looked. Altogether, she was neither
handsome nor ugly, which is an excellent thing in woman. Sita the
goddess[FN#77] was lovely to excess; therefore she was carried
away by a demon. Raja Bali was exceedingly generous, and he
emptied his treasury. In this way, exaggeration, even of good, is
exceedingly bad.
Yet must I confess, continued the parrot, that, as a rule, the
beautiful woman is more virtuous than the ugly. The former is
often tempted, but her vanity and conceit enable her to resist, by
the self-promise that she shall be tempted again and again. On the
other hand, the ugly woman must tempt instead of being tempted,
and she must yield, because her vanity and conceit are gratified by
yielding, not by resisting.
"Ho, there!" broke in the jay contemptuously. "What woman
cannot win the hearts of the silly things called men? Is it not said
that a pig-faced female who dwells in Landanpur has a lover?"
I was about to remark, my king! said the parrot, somewhat nettled,
if the aged virgin had not interrupted me, that as ugly women are
more vicious than handsome women, so they are most successful.
"We love the pretty, we adore the plain," is a true saying amongst
the worldly wise. And why do we adore the plain? Because they
seem to think less of themselves than of us-a vital condition of
adoration.
Jayashri made some conquests by the portion of good looks which
she possessed, more by her impudence, and most by her father's
reputation for riches. She was truly shameless, and never allowed
herself fewer than half a dozen admirers at the time. Her chief
amusement was to appoint interviews with them successively, at
intervals so short that she was obliged to hurry away one in order
to make room for another. And when a lover happened to be
jealous, or ventured in any way to criticize her arrangements, she
replied at once by showing him the door. Answer unanswerable!
When Jayashri had reached the ripe age of thirteen, the son of a
merchant, who was her father's gossip and neighbour, returned
home after a long sojourn in far lands, whither he had travelled in
the search of wealth. The poor wretch, whose name, by-the-bye,
was Shridat (Gift of Fortune), had loved her in her childhood; and
he came back, as men are apt to do after absence from familiar
scenes, painfully full of affection for house and home and all
belonging to it. From his cross, stingy old uncle to the snarling
superannuated beast of a watchdog, he viewed all with eyes of love
and melting heart. He could not see that his idol was greatly
changed, and nowise for the better; that her nose was broader and
more club-like, her eyelids fatter and thicker, her under lip more
prominent, her voice harsher, and her manner coarser. He did not
notice that she was an adept in judging of men's dress, and that she
looked with admiration upon all swordsmen, especially upon those
who fought upon horses and elephants. The charm of memory, the
curious faculty of making past time present caused all he viewed to
be enchanting to him.
Having obtained her father's permission, Shridat applied for
betrothal to Jayashri, who with peculiar boldness, had resolved that
no suitor should come to her through her parent. And she, after
leading him on by all the coquetries of which she was a mistress,
refused to marry him, saying that she liked him as a friend, but
would hate him as a husband.
You see, my king! there are three several states of feeling with
which women regard their masters, and these are love, hate, and
indifference. Of all, love is the weakest and the most transient,
because the essentially unstable creatures naturally fall out of it as
readily as they fall into it. Hate being a sister excitement will
easily become, if a man has wit enough to effect the change, love;
and hate-love may perhaps last a little longer than love-love. Also,
man has the occupation, the excitement, and the pleasure of
bringing about the change. As regards the neutral state, that poet
was not happy in his ideas who sang --
Whene'er indifference appears, or scorn,
Then, man, despair! then, hapless lover, mourn!
For a man versed in the Lila Shastra[FN#78] can soon turn a
woman's indifference into hate, which I have shown is as easily
permuted to love. In which predicament it is the old thing over
again, and it ends in the pure Asat[FN#79] or nonentity.
"Which of these two birds, the jay or the parrot, had dipped deeper
into human nature, mighty King Vikram?" asked the demon in a
wheedling tone of voice.
The trap was this time set too openly, even for the royal personage,
to fall into it. He hurried on, calling to his son, and not answering a
word. The Vampire therefore resumed the thread of his story at the
place where he had broken it off.
Shridat was in despair when he heard the resolve of his idol. He
thought of drowning himself, of throwing himself down from the
summit of Mount Girnar,[FN#80] of becoming a religious beggar;
in short, of a multitude of follies. But he refrained from all such
heroic remedies for despair, having rightly judged, when he
became somewhat calmer, that they would not be likely to further
his suit. He discovered that patience is a virtue, and he resolved
impatiently enough to practice it. And by perseverance he
succeeded. The worse for him! How vain are men to wish! How
wise is the Deity, who is deaf to their wishes!
Jayashri, for potent reasons best known to herself, was married to
Shridat six months after his return home. He was in raptures. He
called himself the happiest man in existence. He thanked and
sacrificed to the Bhagwan for listening to his prayers. He recalled
to mind with thrilling heart the long years which he had spent in
hopeless exile from all that was dear to him, his sadness and
anxiety, his hopes and joys, his toils and troubles his loyal love and
his vows to Heaven for the happiness of his idol, and for the
furtherance of his fondest desires.
For truly he loved her, continued the parrot, and there is something
holy in such love. It becomes not only a faith, but the best of
faiths-an abnegation of self which emancipates the spirit from its
straightest and earthliest bondage, the "I"; the first step in the
regions of heaven; a homage rendered through the creature to the
Creator; a devotion solid, practical, ardent, not as worship mostly
is, a cold and lifeless abstraction; a merging of human nature into
one far nobler and higher the spiritual existence of the supernal
world. For perfect love is perfect happiness, and the only
perfection of man; and what is a demon but a being without love?
And what makes man's love truly divine, is the fact that it is
bestowed upon such a thing as woman.
"And now, Raja Vikram," said the Vampire, speaking in his proper
person, "I have given you Madanmanjari the jay's and Churaman
the parrot's definitions of the tender passion, or rather their
descriptions of its effects. Kindly observe that I am far from
accepting either one or the other. Love is, according to me,
somewhat akin to mania, a temporary condition of selfishness, a
transient confusion of identity. It enables man to predicate of
others who are his other selves, that which he is ashamed to say
about his real self. I will suppose the beloved object to be ugly,
stupid, vicious, perverse, selfish, low minded, or the reverse; man
finds it charming by the same rule that makes his faults and foibles
dearer to him than all the virtues and good qualities of his
neighbours. Ye call love a spell, an alchemy, a deity. Why?
Because it deifies self by gratifying all man's pride, man's vanity,
and man's conceit, under the mask of complete unegotism. Who is
not in heaven when he is talking of himself? and, prithee, of what
else consists all the talk of lovers?"
It is astonishing that the warrior king allowed this speech to last as
long as it did. He hated nothing so fiercely, now that he was in
middle-age, as any long mention of the "handsome god.[FN#81]"
Having vainly endeavoured to stop by angry mutterings the course
of the Baital's eloquence, he stepped out so vigorously and so
rudely shook that inveterate talker, that the latter once or twice
nearly bit off the tip of his tongue. Then the Vampire became
silent, and Vikram relapsed into a walk which allowed the tale to
be resumed.
Jayashri immediately conceived a strong dislike for her husband,
and simultaneously a fierce affection for a reprobate who before
had been indifferent to her. The more lovingly Shridat behaved to
her, the more vexed end annoyed she was. When her friends talked
to her, she turned up her nose, raising her eyebrows (in token of
displeasure), and remained silent. When her husband spoke words
of affection to her, she found them disagreeable, and turning away
her face, reclined on the bed. Then he brought dresses and
ornaments of various kinds and presented them to her, saying,
"Wear these." Whereupon she would become more angry, knit her
brows, turn her face away, and in an audible whisper call him
"fool." All day she stayed out of the house, saying to her
companions, "Sisters, my youth is passing away, and I have not, up
to the present time, tasted any of this world's pleasures." Then she
would ascend to the balcony, peep through the lattice, and seeing
the reprobate going along, she would cry to her friend, "Bring that
person to me." All night she tossed and turned from side to side,
reflecting in her heart, "I am puzzled in my mind what I shall say,
and whither I shall go. I have forgotten sleep, hunger, and thirst;
neither heat nor cold is refreshing to me."
At last, unable any longer to support the separation from her
reprobate paramour, whom she adored, she resolved to fly with
him. On one occasion, when she thought that her husband was fast
asleep, she rose up quietly, and leaving him, made her way
fearlessly in the dark night to her lover's abode. A footpad, who
saw her on the way, thought to himself, "Where can this woman,
clothed in jewels, be going alone at midnight?" And thus he
followed her unseen, and watched her.
When Jayashri reached the intended place, she went into the house,
and found her lover lying at the door. He was dead, having been
stabbed by the footpad; but she, thinking that he had, according to
custom, drunk intoxicating hemp, sat upon the floor, and raising
his head, placed it tenderly in her lap. Then, burning with the fire
of separation from him, she began to kiss his cheeks, and to fondle
and caress him with the utmost freedom and affection.
By chance a Pisach (evil spirit) was seated in a large
fig-tree[FN#82] opposite the house, and it occurred to him, when
beholding this scene, that he might amuse himself in a
characteristic way. He therefore hopped down from his branch,
vivified the body, and began to return the woman's caresses. But as
Jayashri bent down to kiss his lips, he caught the end of her nose in
his teeth, and bit it clean off. He then issued from the corpse, and
returned to the branch where he had been sitting.
Jayashri was in despair. She did not, however, lose her presence of
mind, but sat down and proceeded to take thought; and when she
had matured her plan she arose, dripping with blood, and walked
straight home to her husband's house. On entering his room she
clapped her hand to her nose, and began to gnash her teeth, and to
shriek so violently, that all the members of the family were
alarmed. The neighbours also collected in numbers at the door,
and, as it was bolted inside, they broke it open and rushed in,
carrying lights. There they saw the wife sitting upon the ground
with her face mutilated, and the husband standing over her,
apparently trying to appease her.
"O ignorant, criminal, shameless, pitiless wretch!" cried the
people, especially the women; "why hast thou cut off her nose, she
not having offended in any way?"
Poor Shridat, seeing at once the trick which had been played upon
him, thought to himself: "One should put no confidence in a
changeful mind, a black serpent, or an armed enemy, and one
should dread a woman's doings. What cannot a poet describe?
What is there that a saint (jogi) does not know? What nonsense
will not a drunken man talk? What limit is there to a woman's
guile? True it is that the gods know nothing of the defects of a
horse, of the thundering of clouds, of a woman's deeds, or of a
man's future fortunes. How then can we know?" He could do
nothing but weep, and swear by the herb basil, by his cattle, by his
grain, by a piece of gold, and by all that is holy, that he had not
committed the crime.
In the meanwhile, the old merchant, Jayashri's father, ran off, and
laid a complaint before the kotwal, and the footmen of the police
magistrate were immediately sent to apprehend the husband, and to
carry him bound before the judge. The latter, after due
examination, laid the affair before the king. An example happening
to be necessary at the time, the king resolved to punish the offence
with severity, and he summoned the husband and wife to the court.
When the merchant's daughter was asked to give an account of
what had happened, she pointed out the state of her nose, and said,
"Maharaj! why inquire of me concerning what is so manifest?"
The king then turned to the husband, and bade him state his
defence. He said, "I know nothing of it," and in the face of the
strongest evidence he persisted in denying his guilt.
Thereupon the king, who had vainly threatened to cut off Shridat's
right hand, infuriated by his refusing to confess and to beg for
mercy, exclaimed, "How must I punish such a wretch as thou art?"
The unfortunate man answered, "Whatever your majesty may
consider just, that be pleased to do." Thereupon the king cried,
"Away with him, and impale him"; and the people, hearing the
command, prepared to obey it.
Before Shridat had left the court, the footpad, who had been
looking on, and who saw that an innocent man was about to be
unjustly punished, raised a cry for justice and, pushing through the
crowd, resolved to make himself heard. He thus addressed the
throne: "Great king, the cherishing of the good, and the
punishment of the bad, is the invariable duty of kings." The ruler
having caused him to approach, asked him who he was, and he
replied boldly, " Maharaj! I am a thief, and this man is innocent
and his blood is about to be shed unjustly. Your majesty has not
done what is right in this affair." Thereupon the king charged him
to tell the truth according to his religion; and the thief related
explicitly the whole circumstances, omitting of course, the murder.
"Go ye," said the king to his messengers, "and look in the mouth of
the woman's lover who has fallen dead. If the nose be there found,
then has this thief-witness told the truth, and the husband is a
guiltless man."
The nose was presently produced in court, and Shridat escaped the
stake. The king caused the wicked Jayashri's face to be smeared
with oily soot, and her head and eyebrows to be shaved; thus
blackened and disfigured, she was mounted upon a little
ragged-limbed ass and was led around the market and the streets,
after which she was banished for ever from the city. The husband
and the thief were then dismissed with betel and other gifts,
together with much sage advice which neither of them wanted.
"My king," resumed the misogyne parrot, "of such excellencies as
these are women composed. It is said that 'wet cloth will
extinguish fire and bad food will destroy strength; a degenerate son
ruins a family, and when a friend is in wrath he takes away life.
But a woman is an inflicter of grief in love and in hate, whatever
she does turns out to be for our ill. Truly the Deity has created
woman a strange being in this world.' And again, 'The beauty of
the nightingale is its song, science is the beauty of an ugly man,
forgiveness is the beauty of a devotee, and the beauty of a woman
is virtue-but where shall we find it?' And again, 'Among the sages,
Narudu; among the beasts, the jackal; among the birds, the crow;
among men, the barber; and in this world woman-is the most
crafty.'
"What I have told thee, my king, I have seen with mine own eyes,
and I have heard with mine own ears. At the time I was young, but
the event so affected me that I have ever since held female kind to
be a walking pest, a two-legged plague, whose mission on earth,
like flies and other vermin, is only to prevent our being too happy.
O, why do not children and young parrots sprout in crops from the
ground-from budding trees or vinestocks?"
"I was thinking, sire," said the young Dharma Dhwaj to the warrior
king his father, "what women would say of us if they could
compose Sanskrit verses!"
"Then keep your thoughts to yourself," replied the Raja, nettled at
his son daring to say a word in favour of the sex. "You always take
the part of wickedness and depravity--- "
"Permit me, your majesty," interrupted the Baital, "to conclude my
tale."
When Madan-manjari, the jay, and Churaman, the parrot, had
given these illustrations of their belief, they began to wrangle, and
words ran high. The former insisted that females are the salt of the
earth, speaking, I presume, figuratively. The latter went so far as to
assert that the opposite sex have no souls, and that their brains are
in a rudimental and inchoate state of development. Thereupon he
was tartly taken to task by his master's bride, the beautiful
Chandravati, who told him that those only have a bad opinion of
women who have associated with none but the vicious and the low,
and that he should be ashamed to abuse feminine parrots, because
his mother had been one.
This was truly logical.
On the other hand, the jay was sternly reproved for her mutinous
and treasonable assertions by the husband of her mistress, Raja
Ram, who, although still a bridegroom, had not forgotten the
gallant rule of his syntax--
The masculine is more worthy than the feminine;
till Madan-manjari burst into tears and declared that her life was
not worth having. And Raja Ram looked at her as if he could have
wrung her neck.
In short, Raja Vikram, all the four lost their tempers, and with
them what little wits they had. Two of them were but birds, and the
others seem not to have been much better, being young, ignorant,
inexperienced, and lately married. How then could they decide so
difficult a question as that of the relative wickedness and villany of
men and women? Had your majesty been there, the knot of
uncertainty would soon have been undone by the trenchant edge of
your wit and wisdom, your knowledge and experience. You have,
of course, long since made up your mind upon the subject?
Dharma Dhwaj would have prevented his father's reply. But the
youth had been twice reprehended in the course of this tale, and he
thought it wisest to let things take their own way.
"Women," quoth the Raja, oracularly, "are worse than we are; a
man, however depraved he may be, ever retains some notion of
right and wrong, but a woman does not. She has no such regard
whatever."
"The beautiful Bangalah Rani for instance?" said the Baital, with a
demonaic sneer.
At the mention of a word, the uttering of which was punishable by
extirpation of the tongue, Raja Vikram's brain whirled with rage.
He staggered in the violence of his passion, and putting forth both
hands to break his fall, he dropped the bundle from his back. Then
the Baital, disentangling himself and laughing lustily, ran off
towards the tree as fast as his thin brown legs would carry him. But
his activity availed him little.
The king, puffing with fury, followed him at the top of his speed,
and caught him by his tail before he reached the siras-tree, hurled
him backwards with force, put foot upon his chest, and after
shaking out the cloth, rolled him up in it with extreme violence,
bumped his back half a dozen times against the stony ground, and
finally, with a jerk, threw him on his shoulder, as he had done
before.
The young prince, afraid to accompany his father whilst he was
pursuing the fiend, followed slowly in the rear, and did not join
him for some minutes.
But when matters were in their normal state, the Vampire, who had
endured with exemplary patience the penalty of his impudence,
began in honeyed accents,
"Listen, O warrior king, whilst thy servant recounts unto thee
another true tale."